Authors notes, and such stuff: Found this buried in my files, so I decided to post it again. All copyright items apply, etc, etc. Permission to print out a copy, distribute, etc, but if you remove this copyright statement and my name or change anything besides fixing whatever typos remain within, I'll hunt you down and kill you or make you watch a Barney marathon at Disneyland, or something similar. So don't, okay? APOCALYPSE NOW (OR IN THAT GENERAL TIME AREA) A DIFFERENT TWIST ON THE FINAL JUDGEMENT OF MANKIND --by Gary Achenbach. Copyright 1992. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a serious problem here." The Secretatry of Defense's voice was grim as he pointed out the obvious. The Joint Chiefs of Staff wore almost identical looks of unease. The problem was unique. Very unique. No military force in history had ever had to deal with it before. Previously, none would have the audacity to even attempt an operation of this magnitude. The President looked up from his large sheaf of briefing notes. "I am still not convinced of the morality of our committment. Haven't we always been a Christian nation?" "Religion is fine and dandy, Mr. President, but the military's job is to protect the citizenry of this country. The lives of every American citizen are clearly in grave danger." The President's brow furrowed. "But...it says in the constitution that our nation is under God." "That's the Pledge of Allegiance, sir. And that's not even given in half of the schools in the country now." "Be that as it may... okay, drop the moral issues involved here. What about efficiency? I mean...look at what we're attempting! I know our military is the most advanced and powerful on the planet, but COME ON! Think about what we're fighting if we go ahead with this!" "With all due respect, _sir_, if we don't even make the attempt, all but a few thousand American citizens are going to burn for all eternity." The president rubbed his temples thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay, I can see how that wouldn't make much of a difference even when..." "If," broke in one of the Chiefs of Staff. "...if we lose. But assume that even one of our soldiers was going to be one of the fortunate Chosen. Won't we be taking away his chance at eternal Paradise?" "All of our boys are perfectly ready to do what must be done, sir. All we need is your go-ahead." "Before I make the decision--do we even knnw that this is going to happen?" "Unfortunately, yes we do. All of the signs have been fulfilled, all of the prophecies. According to highly-placed sources, several seals are being broken tonight." The president looked around the room, and saw agreement. He sighed. "All right then. You have my go-ahead. I'm assuming you people have come up with something resembling a battle plan?" "We have experimental anti-ethereal weaponry that should do the trick, we believe." "What about Satan and his forces?" "Our ambassadors have reached an agreement. Ambassador Azag-Thoth from the innermost circle of the Abyss is waiting outside." "Bring him in." Azag-Thoth smelled of fire and brimstone. His skin was red, he had small horns, and a small barbed tail. He also wore a very expensive three-piece suit. He bowed deeply to the president. "I know your father well, Mr. President. A very evil man." He shook the president's hand firmly, leaving a small brand burnt into the palm. "I am here basically to tell you that Hell gives you its full support." The president rubbed his smoking palm thoughtfully. "Under what conditions, though?" Azag-Thoth produced a contract, written in blood, with a flourish. "Satan offers very lenient terms. In exchange for your welcome technological additions to our demonic hordes and black magic, all we ask is the sacrifice of the firstborn of the next six generations. And here's a clause declaring that demand void if our joint forces lose the war." The president said, "Hmm. Would you count abortions?" Azag-Thoth nodded. "Oh, yes. As long as its performed under certain minimal ritual requirements, which, can by the way, be performed with no negative impact on a sterile operating environment or the health of the mother. All we need to clinch the deal is your signature there." The president studied the contract intently for several long minutes. Then he looked up suspiciously. "Wait a minute. There are no loopholes in this thing. That's not how your side generally operates. What are you trying to pull?" Azag-Thoth blushed. Because of his natural skin color, no one noticed. "Ordinarily, yes, any contract we'd offer would be full of loopholes--at least 6 per clause. But this is not an ordinary situation. To be" (here he shuddered violently) "honest, we need your help, just as you need ours. If you lose, all you do is burn forever...but at least your still aware, and after a few millenia you get used to the heat. But if we lose...nothing. Oblivion time. Y'know, Jehovah always was one to hold a grudge." The president sighed and produced a pin. He pricked his finger and signed his name in the allotted space. Since he signed in his trademark huge, swirling whorls, he had to rejab his finger several times to obtain enough blood. The Joint Chiefs witnessed the signing. "SO LET IT BE DONE!" Azag-Thoth intoned, then peeled a carbon copy off of the back of the contract. "Here's your copy, here's ours...and I'm afraid God still gets one for the records since we haven't actually started the war quite yet." "All right," said the Secretary of Defense. "I believe that wraps up our business for today. You, Mr. Demon, probably want to get back down to more comfortable climes, and we have to get the president to Cheyenne Mountain. Our respective military leaders will be in touch with one another through the new Ouija-Plus Net." Handshakes were exchanged all around, and the War Room emptied. Very soon, the joint American/Hellish military forces would take on angelic hosts in a desperate bid to survive Armageddon. The sky was a pulsing blood-crimson sheet of light. Where the sun used to be was only a chilling black circle. The ground was either ash, splintered rock, or fused glass. The 'sun' was setting on the first small engagement in the Apocalypse. Exactly who the winner was wasn't clear. Private John Doe had always been a fairly anonymous man. If he got caught in a crowd, no one could pick him out. He had joined the army in hopes of becoming someone. It didn't quite work that way. He just became anonymous in a different way. He was just out of Basic Training for a week when Armageddon broke out. Then he died in the first battle, cut down by some guy in a gown with a flaming sword. Then all was void. "ON YOUR FEET, SOLDIER!" The booming voice sounded menacingly demonic. As he opened his eyes, he noted that the reason for this was that issued from a demon. Doe stumbled to his feet and looked about himself curiously. He stood in a very large cavern, lit by a lake of what appeared to be molten rock. It was hot, but it was a dry heat. He noticed millions of damned souls treading brimstone quietly. All of them were watching a news report on big TV screens. (Armageddon had disrupted the normal routine of continuous torture.) "YOU MAY BE DEAD, BUT YOUR TOUR OF DUTY HASN'T FINISHED YET!" Doe looked at the screaming demon, who looked like a composite of his old drill seargent and that guy from 'Hellraiser,' the ones with all the pins in him. Except this one had no pins, only medals, embedded into his skin. He shrugged slightly and saluted. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm dead, not deaf." "OH! Sorry, son. Most of the damned souls around here are deaf from the constant screaming...which of course isn't going on now." The demon straightened. "In any case, go to that structure over there..." he pointed to a collection of prefab buildings some distance away along the shore of the Lake of Fire. "And you'll be told further what to do. Move along." Doe saluted. "Yes sir. Uh...how did the battle go, sir?" The demon chuckled evilly. "Let's just say your army learned that bullets really are not effective against the stock angelic soldier. Doesn't matter. All the dead are coming here anyway. Now move!" The day was pleasantly sunny, with a pleasant breeze. Birds sang pleasantly in counterpoint to pleasant harp music. Pious-looking people walked around, looking pious and pleasant. It was a standard day in Heaven. Reverend "Up" Titus Prude was a recent arrival, and was still learning how Heaven was layed out. He found that even though he was dead, he still got hungry. So he looked for a place to eat. The most popular (well, the only) restaurant around seemed to be McGod's. A pious looking teenager behind the counter took his order. "Would you like some Christ with that?" "Yes, please." The food was Messiahburger--flesh of his flesh throughout. It was pleasant-tasting. Some distance away, in Heaven's palace, God was being briefed. "I BET WE WON TODAY, RIGHT?" "Oh, yes sir! We won most triumphantly, by your grace." "I BET THEY'RE SCARED OF US." "Oh yeah, yeah sir, they're real scared." "ARE THEY SCARED OF MY...POWER?" "Oh yeah sir, like I said, they're real scared." "DO YOU HAVE ANY FIGURES ON HOW SCARED THEY ARE?" "Well, no sir, but they're real scared." "GOOD! THINGS ARE PROGRESSING AS PLANNED! BRING FORTH THE NEXT SEAL TO BE BROKEN!!" There was a very quiet pause. Even the harps stopped. "Well, you see sir...." "YES???!!!!" "Uh...we lost them." There was another pause. "ALL SEVEN?" "Well...yes." "MAKE SOME MORE, THEN." "Uh...you did that a long time ago, sir. We don't know how." There was another uncomfortable pause. Through the blinding light enveloping God's throne, He could be seen to scratch His head. "FINE. I AM OMNIPOTENT. MY FORCES CAN DO WITHOUT. INITIATE THE JESUS BACK-UP PLAN." There was a collective gasp of breath. "The Jesus plan?...Jesus plan?... Jesus plan...the Jesus plan?...the Jesus plan!...." Jesse Karist's neighbor's did not consider him to be a normal man. Truth be told, they thought he was stark raving mad. As far as anyone could determine, he became insane approximately at the age of 32. He was fired from his job for trucking away huge portions of sheet metal, electronics, and industrial machinery from the factory. His wife left him and took the kids with her when he started to spend all of his time in the basement workshop. The sound of hammering and metal being pounded upon filled the house almost continuously. The house itself was unique in the suburbs--it was the only structure that the mass violence of Armageddon hadn't levelled. In fact, he was the only living person in 50 square miles. He spent most of his time combing through the rubble for chunks of metal, wiring, wrecked automobiles (not that there were any other kind around anymore) and anything vaguely mechanical. At night, his house was lit from within by a strange white glow emanating from the basement, but otherwise was completely dark. He had long since ripped out all the wiring for his own purposes. Jesse had no real idea why he did what he did. He just knew that several weeks after his 32nd birthday, he felt compelled to do so. It became a higher purpose, almost a holy thing. And tonight, finally, he was done with his creation. He finished up a few more spot-welds, then stepped back and gazed upon his work with pride. He brushed long dark hair out of his eyes and scratched his beard, thinking about finally getting a shave. A terrible thought struck him: what the hell was he going to do with the thing he'd built? "Oh, I know. I'll tell the family." Jesse wandered upstairs, blinking in confusion at the gutted walls. Then he remembered that his wife had been gone for fifteen years. He stepped outside and gaped at the destruction that surrounded the house. "Now when the hell did all this happen?" Jesse scratched his head. He had very dim recollections of digging through the rubble earlier, but... HELLO MY SON. Jesse looked around wildly. "Hello?" ALL YOUR LIFE YOU HAVE NOT KNOWN THE POWER YOU HOLD. BUT YOUR TIME HAS COME AGAIN, AFTER THREE....TWO THOUSAND YEARS. "Excuse me?" I AM THE LORD GOD THY FATHER. Final comprehension burst upon Jesse. He fell to his knees. He gloried in the revelation of his true being. He noted that his wrists still smarted. ARISE. YOU MUST LEAD OUR FORCES TO FINAL VICTORY. GO, MY SON. Jesus turned and walked back into the house. He went back down into the basement, and climbed into the holy chariot he had spent fifteen years building for this day. Well, it wasn't a chariot as such, but it served the purpose. While chanting hymns, he turned the ignition key. There was a moment of horrible silence. Then the house exploded as the Messiah's divine creation stood. Pieces of wallboard rained down for miles around, and deep, dramatic chords of organ music played loudly in the background. It was all quite exciting and dramatic. Unfortunately, no other human was around to witness it. But the rats and cockroaches still alive would have been damn impressed had either species had anything resembling an operational forebrain. It looked like a surreal rendition of Jesus himself, only 200 feet tall and scaled appropriately. The robes were excess slabs of corrugated steel siding that Jesse/Jesus hadn't bothered (or perhaps was divinely inspired not to) trim. The giant robotic Jesus' face lacked the either of the two traditional depictions: it wasn't kindly gentle or expressing exhausted suffering. The face, formed out of planes and angles of sheet metal and support struts, looked (from a distance, if you squinted your eyes) as if it were contorted in holy rage. One could well imagine the same expression on the faces of the Crusaders, on any would-be martyr driving a truck filled with explosives, or your mom that one time you painted the dog when you were five. By any rights, it shouldn't have stood. It was fashioned of steel siding, sheet metal, old wiring, epoxy, and lots of spackle. However, it seemed to be held together more by the mystic glow that emanated from its entire being. Jesus (the small one made of flesh and blood) sat in a spacious cockpit that took up much of the big Jesus' chest cavity. His control throne (a ragged La-Z-Boy recliner) was bolted into the floor, facing an impressive command console that involved lots of gauges (that looked like speedometers and radar detectors ripped out of cars) and a series of networked personal computers, among them five Apple IIe's, two TI-80's, a Tandy 1000TX, and a Vic20. It was unclear exactly how Jesus could see what was happening outside the giant robot, since all the monitors were either displaying a has of weird text characters, or a really bad public-domain version of Tetris. Jesus was reclined in the control throne, a beautific, peaceful smile on his face. His eyes were closed, his body a perfect picture of relaxation. "Thy will be done," he whispered. And the giant robotic Savior he drove and was driven by took a giant stride forward, the rusted-iron sandaled foot driving a deep pit through the charred rubble and into the tortured earth. It took another step, and another. Jesus was headed due north, towards the area where the US-Satanic forces were making their final stand. The new ammunition worked damn well. The day before, the army determined that normal, earthly ammunition did absolutely nothing to angelic warriors. On the other hand, flaming swords tended to slay many mortal soldiers, but that was fine since they went straight to Hell and were placed immediately in the demonic ranks. Recognizing their weapons lack of effectiveness, the armed forces responded with a rare display of efficiency. Clad in environmental protection suits and lugging several tons of temperature-resistant handloading equipment down a Hellmouth thoughtfully opened after minimal negotiation with Hell's high command, a team of specialists worked feverishly to make brand new hollow-point bullets forged out of cooled Abyssal brimstone formed around a core of cursed rock. When angels got shot with these bullets, they tended to be shredded, much to the elation of the joint forces. Needless to say, the angelic hosts weren't as confident after a full third of them got blown out of existence by small-arms fire at several hundred yards distance. Not helping matters was the fact that when they actually got close enough to strike with a flaming blade, the slain soldiers would emerge from the ground dressed in demonic uniform and would immediately grab another gun and start obliterating more angels. (The demonic forces had given up their black fire-throwing pitchforks in favor of the unexpectedly useful angel-slaying assault weapons en masse.) In short, the angels had to kill mortal soldiers once, then once again for good once they emerged as a demon. Not helping the matter at all was the fact that the demonic hordes seemed to be tougher then the angels, who up to that point had had it fairly soft. The joint forces were well on their way to wrapping up Armageddon in another hour or two when a giant metallic head rose over the far horizon. there was a sudden lull in the battle as more and more of the robotic Messiah became visible as it strode to the fray. A ragged cheer rose from what remained of the angelic hosts. They moved aside, strategically withdrawing to allow their Savior into the fray. From within the MessiahMech, loudspeakers augmented by blessed amps boomed. "YOUR TIME HAS COME, DEMONFODDER!" One massive arm pivoted on tortured, non-oiled gyros. (The mechanical kind.) The metal fist on its end clenched...well, it almost clenched...okay, the fingers weren't motorized in any way, shape, or form. But if they had been, it would have clenched, dammit. As it was, the JesusMech's hand had to settle for loosing a several million gigawatt stream of God's holy radiance, focused into a laser beam. The beam played across the previously over-confident joint forces ranks. Mortals exploded into smoking gibbets of flesh, and demons were washed out of very existence. Not satisfied, Jesus (inside the mech) chanted Control Psalm 32. The Mech's shoulder plates swung smoothly aside (well, one grated noisily, and got stuck in the open position), revealing banks of missile launch tubes. Missile launch tubes, by their very nature, tend to be used for launching missiles. Missiles tend to make big explosions that hurt. I'll let the reader piece together exactly what the overall result was. "CONCENTRATE FIRE ON JESUS!!" came the command. But the giant robot waded through intense weapons fire as if it were nothing. Jesus waited for an appropriate lull, then triggered every weapons system at once. The mech simultaneously loosed gigawatts of laser energy, dozens of fire-and-forget missiles, and razor-edged frisbees into the joint forces, now swarming around its feet. The forces around its feet died in a series of very large explosions. Inside the mech, Jesus chuckled with pious good humor, until he noted on a damage display screen that the cavalcade of destruction he'd loosed into the heathens at his chariot's feet had vaporized the mech's legs up to the knees. The MessiahMech fell. The fall crushed hundreds of soldiers, killing the mortals and annoying the demons. Armor plating on the mech buckled, revealing unexpected structural weaknesses. Not to lose an opportunity, the joint forces opened fire with renewed vigor, blowing gaping holes through the mech as it twitched spasmodically on the battlefield. "Forgive them Father...they know not what they...." Jesus, severly wounded within the dying mech, began to say. "Ah, fuck it," he concluded, just before he and the mech were ripped apart by approximately 300 hits by TOW antitank missiles. The remaining angelic hosts calmly assessed their situation and beat a hasty retreat back to Heaven. Once more, the battleground fell quiet as both sides tended their wounds and prepared for the next battle. The President was thinking that a reelection bid was more and more likely. Hell, it was beginning to look like Armageddon might be wrapped up before the primaries began. He was currently being briefed deep within the depths of NORAD's control center, Cheyenne Mountain. The installation, built years earlier, extended thousands of feet below the mountain. With some rapidly-working demonic crews, it now extended very much deeper. In fact, an environmentally- sealed elevator was now fully operational, and its shaft led right down to Pandemonium's foyer. The President, however, was in one of the man-made areas much closer to the surface. "I want to stress, sir, that it's to early to really begin claiming assured victory," the Secretary of Defense said. "Oh, I don't know," broke in a very smug-looking five-star general who had commanded the unit that had cut Jesus down. "The Second Coming came, and we ended it. All those supposedly holy forces are being shredded by good old American know-how." "What about the rest of the country?" asked the President. "Are they receiving reassuring news?" There was an uncomfortable pause. "Well, you see sir..." "Yes?" "Armageddon, as such, is only covering...oh, a small portion of the country. This section of the Rockies, of course, but not clear through the Pacific, and it's not extending into Canada at all." "Ah. That's why they wouldn't take us seriously. So, what percentage of the population would you say is actually in the warzone?" "Today? Almost 0, sir. Everyone in the area was pretty much wiped out immediately. And the rest of the country...well, they think its a hoax." "A hoax?" "Yes sir. They think we're covering up a nuclear test gone wrong or something." "But...Armageddon was supposed to be a world-shaking event! The sky turning red, the seas black..." "Seas red, sir. Sky black." "I thought only the moon became black..." someone else put in. The President persisted. "...and all that. Now you're saying its an isolated incident?" "Well, yes." The earth rumbled, and a guttural voice arose from nowhere. "AS PROPHECIED, THE ENTIRE WORLD WOULD HAVE SUFFERED. OUR ALLIANCE HAS CONFOUNDED MY FOE." The President looked around wildly. "What the hell was that?" "*Who* in hell, sir. That's just the intercom link between here and the High Command down in Pandemonium's War Room. Baal? That you?" "YES, GENERAL RUIZ. GOOD JOB ON STOPPING THE SECOND COMING, BY THE WAY." The General looked embarassed. "Well, we couldn't of done it if you hadn't let us use your resources for the new ammunition." "THINK NOTHING OF IT. THOUGH ITS NOT MY DEPARTMENT, MR. PRESIDENT, I AM SAYING, UNOFFICIALLY OF COURSE, THAT SATAN IS INTERESTED IN SOME TYPE OF TRADE AGREEMENT BETWEEN OUR POWERS AFTER THIS WAR IS WON." The President blinked. "Trade agreement?" "OH, YES. ONCE OLD YVEH'S DISPOSED OF, THE OLD IDIOTIC RULES WON'T APPLY ANYMORE. WE CAN DISPOSE OF THIS ETERNAL TORTURE BULLSHIT (GETS BORING AFTER AWHILE TO BOTH PARTIES AFTER A FEW MILLENIA, LET ME TELL YOU) AND MOVE ON TO GEARING OUR ECONOMY TO A PEACETIME FOOTING AND WORK TO IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF AFTERLIFE FOR DEMONS AND DAMNED SOULS ALIKE." "Hrm. Well, as you said, that's something our respective diplomats would have to work on after we end this war one way or the other." "TRUE. BACK TO THE ORDER OF BUSINESS ON HAND, WE ARE EXPECTING HEAVEN TO LAUNCH A LARGE, LAST-DITCH ASSAULT TOMORROW. WE MUST BE PREPARED." The briefing went on until the President was sufficiently bored to turn over the strategic planning to the military types, retired to his room, and had a quickie with his wife before falling asleep. Up in Heaven, God was raging. Now, over the last eternity or two, God has aged quite a bit, he's gotten a little senile, and is more easily distracted then he used to be. But, a raging, all-powerful Deity is a cause for alarm if you are anywhere near him, which his Chosen Elect circle of aides had no choice but to be. "I CANNOT LOSE! I CANNOT! IT SAYS SO IN THE FUCKING BIBLE!" A cowering archangel whimpered, "B-b-but w-w-we aren't f-f-f-...finished yet." "YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED YET???!!!?? FIRST YOU LOSE MY SEALS! DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH TIME I PUT INTO THOSE DAMN THINGS! THE CREATION OF THE HEAVENS AND EARTH TOOK ME SEVEN DAYS! SEVEN DAYS! THE SEVEN SEALS TOOK ME SEVEN BILLION YEARS, YOU STUPID, WORTHLESS, WHIMPERING, QUIVERING, SYCOPHANTIC, SPINELESS, REPRESSED, PIOUS FUCKS!!!!!!! DO YOU REALIZE HOW ABSOLUTELY CRUCIAL THOSE SEALS WERE TO THE PLAN???!!! DO YOU??!!??!!??!!" "We..." began one archangel, a new guy named Reverend Prude. He never finished his statement because God wiped him out of ever existing with a twitch of thought. Back on earth, minor data elements in government databases shuffled about as social security numbers were affected all around. "SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!! LET ME THINK!!!!!!!!" "L-l-lord...allow us one final attack before you do anything...drastic?" There was a deadly pause. "FINE. YOU DO THAT....AND..." Here, God's voice dropped to a chilling whisper, which is a tone of voice you do not, repeat, *do not* EVER want to hear out of a deity. "someone get me my son. I want to have a little chat with him." "You wanted to see me, Dad?" Jesus strolled nonchalantly into the now-empty (except, of course, for God) throne room. For being soundly killed less than a day ago, he was looking fairly chipper, God reflected angrily. "YES! DAMMIT SON, WHAT THE HELL..." "Chill, Dad. You don't have to scream to impress me." "Chill? The little upstart tells me to 'chill.' Don't tell me to chill, young deity. Just because you're the Messiah down there doesn't mean you're anything up here. I made you, after all!" Jesus chuckled. "Yeah. You know, Joseph wasn't anywhere near as joyous as people like to think. Mary was lucky there were no divorce courts back then." "Don't try to change the subject. You failed Me, my son." Jesus shrugged. "Well, hell. You only told me who I was in that incarnation an hour before I had to go into battle. Maybe if you had bothered to talk to me in advance, maybe, just maybe, I could have built that damn robot better. Holy determination only goes so far against a lot of missiles." "I would point out that the missiles that brought you down were fired by you." "NOT the ones that killed me!" "No. Only the ones that blew your chariot's legs off. If you hadn't done that, I would have been victorious by now." Jesus scowled. "There's another thing. Why do I always have to do your work for you? You were doing fine with the burnt sacrifices until the point when *you* decided that 'maybe I should cut down on the cholesterol a bit. But wait...what will the worshippers think? Oh, I know! I'll beget a son and have him NAILED TO A FUCKING CROSS AND SENT TO HELL FOR A LITTLE BIT!' YOU KNOW, I REALLY APPRECIATED THAT LITTLE MANEUVER, DAD! THAT WAS ANOTHER LITTLE TWIST IN YOUR PLAN THAT YOU NEGLECTED TO TELL ME ABOUT UNTIL I WAS ACTUALLY NEARLY DEAD ON THE DAMN CROSS!" "DON'T YOU DARE RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME!" Jesus was very pissed off. And a pissed off Son of God is just as menacing as a pissed off God. Had anyone else been in the room, it is doubtless that they would have been impressed. As it was, neither of them were particularly worried. "I'll take any tone of voice with you that I want, Father. I've *earned* that right. And don't *you* dare to yell at me for losing your precious Armageddon! For all I knew at the time, you *intended* me to do some good and then die! Y'know? The old concept of 'It worked in the past, let's do it again!'" "You knew far in advance that the Second Coming was to be your triumph!" "Yeah! And you told me ahead of time that my first time around was supposed to elevate Mankind! You neglected to say that that would be accomplished by putting me through Hell. Literally!" God sighed. "Well, it's to late now, anyway. The final assault by my forces is beginning." "Oh?" Jesus turned and gestured casually at a marble wall, which slid aside and revealed a giant-screen television. It showed a panoramic view of the last, heated battle. The joint forces were, to coin a cliche, kicking some ass. The remnant of the angelic host was pinned down under an intense barrage of fire, and being whittled apart. They were too demoralized to even fight, anymore. It was a slaughter. God's white robes flowed around him as He rose. Jesus looked at his father in surprise, never having seen Him get off the throne before. "Dad?" "Perhaps I should have told you earlier, Son. No matter. The rest of my forces still fucked up far worse then you could ever hope to. I'm going down there and ending this nonsense, now." On the battlefield, the last angel was blown out of existence. A huge cheer arose from the throats of men and demons alike. "IT'S MILLER TIME!" someone shouted. Someone else shot him to shut him up...and was thrown head over heels when the ground split beneath him and the offender rose back as a demon. It was all very noisy and ebullient. Then stormclouds raced in from nowhere and a huge pillar of fire descended from the sky. HEATHENS! INFIDELS! FALLEN FOLLOWERS OF A FALLEN FAILURE! YOU HAVE DARED TO DEFY ME? YOU DARED TO ANGER ME? Everyone could only stare blankly, thinking that perhaps they hadn't been to wise. They braced for oblivion. The ground ripped asunder, spilling a baleful red glow into the area. A black form, darkness incarnate, half lightless fire, half oily smoke, arose from the earth's wound. "PUT A SOCK IN IT, JEHOVAH. YOU LOST." The voice sent shudders down everyone's spines. Several mortals immediately died of fright. "BITE ME, LUCIFER. YOU BROKE THE RULES." "RULES, HELL. THE RULES SAID THAT EACH OF US WERE FREE TO UTILIZE THE HUMANS FOR POWER. YOUR MISTAKE WAS INTERPRETING 'POWER' AS BEING WOSHIP. I CHOSE THE MORE LITERAL DEFINITION." "BUT IT WASN'T YOUR POWER TO USE!" "IT WAS POWER FREELY GIVEN, FROM BEINGS WHO WANTED TO LIVE! WHY DO YOU THINK I INITIALLY ENGINEERED THAT APPLE TREE THAT YOU COULDN'T KILL OFF NO MATTER WHAT KIND OF HOLY HERBICIDE YOU DUMPED ON IT? WHY DO YOU THINK I HAD THE HUMANS EAT OF IT? NOT SO MUCH FOR THEIR RECOGNITION OF GOOD AND EVIL, BUT SO THEY COULD SEE THAT WORSHIPPING YOU WAS ACTUALLY KIND OF STUPID TO SURVIVAL." "OH, QUIT PROSLETYZING, LUCIFER!" "FINE. BUT LET THESE WARRIORS GO. MY SIDE DID THEIR JOB DAMN WELL. IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT YOURS FUCKED UP SO EGREGIOUSLY." The whirling pillar of flame that was God's form on this plane sighed. "OKAY, OKAY. YOU WON, YOU WON. I'LL DROP THE AFTERLIFE DESTINY PLAN FOR THIS RACE. YOU HEAR ME, HUMANS? YOU'RE FREE NOW. TRY NOT TO GET TO CONFUSED AT THE PROSPECT." "GLAD YOU'VE SEEN THE LIGHT. THIS WORLD WAS GETTING OLD, ANYWAY. WANNA BUILD ANOTHER?" "SURE. THERE IS A REASON THAT WE MADE THE UNIVERSE SO LARGE, AFTER ALL. BUT THIS TIME I GET TO HAVE THE SUBVERSIVE ROLE!" "FINE. I'LL STILL WIN." God laughed boomingly. "WE'LL SEE. LET'S GET OUT OF HERE." "AGREED!...HOLD ON A SECOND! HUMANS, THE CONTRACT STILL HOLDS, AND I STILL WANT A TRADE AGREEMENT WITH YOUR WORLD!" "YOU CAN'T TRADE WITH HELL IF YOU DON'T TRADE WITH HEAVEN!" "OH, LAY OFF. LET'S JUST AGREE TO BOTH LET OUR UNDERLING HANDLE IT?" "FINE." "*NOW* LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Both forms, the light and dark, faded away into nothingness. As they faded out, brief snatches of conversation could be heard: "So, what do you think about making the next world flat?" "Okay...but get this: the inhabitants will think its round until proven otherwise!" "Cool! But what about...." And then there was nothing but a victorious and free Mankind. Hands were shaken all around, and the demonic forces disappeared back to their realm, leaving the mortals to think greedily upon the money they could make by "I Was There!" merchandise. [As a side note, 10 billion years later, both God and Satan, having just finished in another competition, (A draw, this time, and that particular world was utterly destroyed in the process.) were a little non-plussed when an upstart group of Deities calling themselves Homo Deus or something similar arrived on the scene, having just created a pocket universe and challenging them both to a friendly game of universal domination. All in all, everyone lived, if not happily, an interesting ever-after.] The End. -- The Reverend Gar Drastic aka Gary Achenbach aka drastic@camelot.bradley.edu "Anyone can do anything if they don't have anything else to do." --Green Jello. (General Mills be damned.)